


Having Plans

by potentiality_26



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Multi, OT3, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Vic asked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If the non-sequitur bothered Walt, he didn’t show it.  “The same thing I always am, probably.  Having a dinner of things which are not turkey, cranberry sauce or sweet potatoes with Henry.  Sometimes Cady comes along.  Sometimes not.”   </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And this year?”</em>
</p><p><em>“I think she’s going to visit some friends from law school.  As is probably evident, it was never a big family event, even when Martha was still with us.”</em>  </p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2425769">Endings and Beginnings</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Having Plans

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is probably not everything everyone was hoping for in a sequel to [Ending and Beginnings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2425769). What can I say? I was inspired by Henry’s least favorite holiday, and then I needed a few days to get it off the ground. 
> 
> I adore Vic’s family in the book series, but since I’m pretty sure that the whole Gorski business would not have gone down like it did on their watch I have concluded that TV canon Vic’s family is very different, and I don't recall any mentions of them in the series, so I used that as an excuse to make them less than awesome.

After Vic moved into her new house, things changed quietly but undeniably. No one ever said anything, but there was discernable difference in the way Henry’s fingers brushed over the back of her hand when he brought her a beer, or the way Walt’s eyes followed her on her way out of the office like it wasn’t a capital crime anymore.

By November Vic had furniture and wasn’t jumping at shadows anymore, which of course meant that her mother had to call and set her off again.

It was a day and a half before she was confronted about it.

They were having a slow afternoon. Ferg was checking out the case of an alien rooster- i.e. one which had appeared without warning on the property of a man who did not keep, and had never kept, chickens. It was exactly the sort of investigation at which Vic normally turned up her nose, but she was sorry not to have been chosen that time- work, and only work, kept her mind off… things. But now Ferg was gone and there was no one else in the office, so she went back to writing reports.

Walt settled against her chair, hand resting on the back next to her head. This was exactly the kind of closeness that was beginning to be usual between them, and it settled her nerves as nothing else in the last day had done.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Vic blinked. She had known she was acting strangely, known she was going to be asked about it, but she had been so sure it was going to happen at the Red Pony that she’d already sorted out in her mind what she was going to say to Henry. But now that it was Walt asking, her thoughts scattered to the winds.

“I was told on no uncertain terms to ask you about it,” Walt said, a smile in his voice.

She laughed, and on impulse rested her cheek on the backs of his fingers.

He moved to crouch in front of her, turning his hand to cradle her face. “What is it?”

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Vic asked. 

If the non-sequitur bothered Walt, he didn’t show it. “The same thing I always am, probably. Having a dinner of things which are not turkey, cranberry sauce or sweet potatoes with Henry. Sometimes Cady comes along. Sometimes not.”

“And this year?”

“I think she’s going to visit some friends from law school. As is probably evident, it was never a big family event, even when Martha was still with us.”

She noticed that Walt said his wife’s name was a fondness that wasn’t as tinged with heartbreak and anger as it used to be. He’d… let go, and that was something to see.

“Why?” Walt pressed gently.

“My mother invited me home for Thanksgiving,” Vic told Walt. “I told her I had plans. It would just be nice to _have_ plans, you know?”

“You always have plans if you want them,” Walt said. He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and stood, leaning against her desk. He crossed his arms. “I take it you don’t want to go home.”

Vic shook her head. “That hasn’t been home for a long time.” She sighed, slumping back in her chair. “When my mother called, she asked more about Sean than about me. She’s really disappointed- you know, Disappointed- about the divorce. I was kind of hoping that, just once, they’d support my decision, but they hadn’t done that in years.”

Walt absorbed this in silence, then leaned forward and held her eyes. “You have plans,” he told her.

She managed a smile and nodded, surprised when something this simple choked her up. Walt leaned in a bit more and kissed her forehead, just a light, warm brush of lips that was there and gone before she properly registered it. Then he stood.

“You should go home,” he said. “If the rooster turns into anything truly sinister, I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Okay,” Vic said, standing. Now that that was resolved, she felt oddly tried. “And thanks.”

Walt just nodded.

*   *   *

A little later that week, Vic was in the Red Pony. Henry gave her a smile and a beer. “I hear you will be having dinner with us.”

Vic nodded. “What’s dinner going to be?”

“I am taking requests, provided turkey and sweet potatoes are not involved.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a laugh. “I’m not particular. Though I did want to say that I’m happy to offer up my living room and kitchen for the event. I have furniture now.”

“Hmm.” Henry looked thoughtful.

“What?”

“It is almost a shame.”

Vic laughed. “You liked the sitting on the floor, did you?”

“We could call it a tradition.”

It wasn’t as if Vic didn’t have the space for such a thing; she had furniture now, yes, but not exactly in abundance, and it was how they’d had their first date. Said date hadn’t been much like one in most respects, having consisted largely of sitting a little closer together than they would have a few hours before and feeling easier about it than Vic had ever suspected- but at the time she hadn’t been sure what it meant in the long run, just that she liked it.

In hindsight, though, they had all been feeling each other out, and Vic got the sense that she was being felt out even now.

She toasted Henry with her bottle. “Whatever you say.”

*   *   *

On Thanksgiving, Walt was- as ever- the last to arrive. Vic was in her kitchen with Henry, being assigned to chop this or that. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was cooking, except that it was Asian and as un-Thanksgiving-y as she could imagine.  In her small kitchen, Vic brushed shoulders and elbows with Henry frequently. It made the room feel slightly warmer than it was, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling.

The contrast between this moment and the last time he’d been in her kitchen making her dinner was immense. She marveled at what a few months and a good support system could achieve and wondered where she would been a few years ago she’d had it when Gorski went after her that first time.

She felt compelled to thank Henry for that, and did so when he turned to her after putting the lid on a pan to let it cook down.

“It was nothing you did not deserve,” he said.

“Yeah,” she agreed, surprised by how easy it was to believe it in that moment. She laughed at herself, huffing quietly.

He looked at her in a way she couldn’t quite describe.

“What?” she asked.

“You are very beautiful. I hope you know that.”

She nodded, not sure what to say, and noticed how close to each other they were standing.  “Can I…”  She trailed off, but lifted her hands in what she hoped was a demonstrative fashion.

Henry nodded.

Vic cupped his face in both hands and got up on her toes to kiss him. It was quick, easy, more to see what it felt like, to see if she could, than anything. It felt good, and yes, she could. When it was over she didn’t back too far away. “This isn’t going to make things awkward, right?”

“No.”

“I mean, that is where this is headed.”

“Yes,” he smiled. “Slowly.”

Vic pulled a face. “What that too fast?”

“Not for me,” Henry said, somewhat significantly. He kissed her forehead, differently than Walt had. He had his arms around her waist and it was like she felt his warmth and strength sinking into her bones. His mouth brushed over her skin and them settled in her hair.

She got the message. “Walt.”

“Walt,” he agreed, and laughed quietly, letting her share in the joke.

Vic remembered Walt kissing her on the forehead and wondered if she ought to keep some kind of tally. She owed Walt a kiss on the lips, by that reckoning.

She flushed a bit when the man in question knocked on the door.

“I didn’t bring flowers this time,” he said when she let him in. 

“Smart move,” Vic replied, surveying the beer and wine Walt had brought instead. “I’m not crying this time.”

“That’s good,” Walt said. He leaned in, probably aiming for her cheek, but Vic turned her head at the last second and caught his mouth. She pressed her lips lightly against his and didn’t take it further, half expecting him to pull away or at last just stand there woodenly. For a moment, he certainly did the latter, but just as she was about to pull away he lifted his free hand and caught her chin, kissing her back.

When he drew away, Vic’s breathing was a little labored. She glanced toward the kitchen. Henry was leaning against the doorframe with a pleased and faintly proprietary look on his face.

He quirked a brow at her in a way that struck her rather like a dare and headed back into the kitchen.

Vic followed, Walt trailing along behind her in a vaguely stunned manner. In the kitchen, Henry was transferring noodles into a serving bowl and Vic moved to help him get dishes. Walt did the same. “You are late,” Henry remarked as they worked. “We were thinking about starting without you.” His tone suggested more than dinner.

Walt flushed slightly, and it was very possibly the sweetest thing Vic had ever seen. It made her want to throw him up against a kitchen cabinet and devour him almost as much as it made her want to coo, however, and Vic hung back to give herself a moment to cool down. She did understand what Henry had been trying to tell her earlier. That Walt wanted this, but it was nothing short of a miracle that he’d made it even this far.

She was not a great believer in going slow. She and Gorski hadn’t ‘dated’ at all- they’d just sort of… tumbled into bed. Or onto any flat surface. That, of course, didn’t exactly recommend this as a life choice- but she and Sean hadn’t exactly taken it slowly either. She certainly hadn’t gone in expecting to marry the guy. But if Walt could do this when he’d probably once thought he wouldn’t do anything ever again, then Vic could unlearn a few habits. If eating dinner sitting on the floor and maybe- if she played it right- making out a little was what was in the cards, then she was damn well going to make the most of it.

Most of the tension in the room had been eased by the time dinner of not-turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce was laid out in the living room.

“This is good,” Vic said, taking a bite. The flavors were a lot more subtle- more… authentic, she supposed- than one typically expected to find in Wyoming, but Henry had a way of surprising her like that. She asked him where he’d learned to cook something like this anyway.

He shrugged. “I’ve been all over,” he reminded her.

She believed him.

Walt’s gaze flickered between them, a little difficult to read. He launched into a story about the ultimate conclusion of the matter with the rooster from earlier in the week.

Having been treated to the Ferg’s version, Vic tuned him in and out, thinking about other things. Non-Thanksgiving or not, Vic had the oddest impulse to suggest some old and juvenile tradition of the holiday that would annoy Henry and probably make Walt smile. She remembered being a little kid and having to say along with her brothers what she was thankful for this year. This year she was thankful that she had a job and a house, and that she had gotten a divorce and although as far as her mother was concerned she might as well start digging her own grave she was actually doing very well, actually very happy.

She was thankful that she had friends who had been there for her when things were bad and had continued to be there for her when things were good. She was happy that she was with them now, instead of back in Philadelphia trying to make polite conversation with people who didn’t really know her anymore. She was thankful that, as Walt had put it, she always had plans if she wanted them.

It was possible that she spent most of dinner with a stupid grin on her face, but neither of them mentioned it.

After dinner, Henry went to see if they could get the game. Vic’s TV had awful reception, which hadn’t bothered her given how little time she spent just sitting around, but Henry hit it a couple of times and pronounced it better than Walt’s.

While Henry negotiated with the TV, Vic stretched out on the couch, glass of wine in hand. Walt sat down beside her, and she soon found herself with her feet in his lap. It turned out Walt gave really good foot rubs. Once he had concluded that he’d got as good a picture out of the TV as he was going to, Henry perched on the arm of the couch behind her. Vic sat up, and with a little work made more space for him. She lay back with her head on his chest and their entwined fingers in her lap.

Vic liked football, but under the circumstances it was a little like trying to read a book with a lot of the pages missing. She could tell from Henry’s reactions that the wrong team was scoring, and he seemed to lose interest altogether after a while. “You know,” Vic remarked, not sure who to exactly, “I take an unseemly amount of pleasure from the thought of how scandalized my mother would be if she knew where I was right now.”

Henry chuckled and she looked up at him. His eyes were pleasantly crinkled and she had a short and silent conversation with his eyes. _Is this okay?_ she asked.

 _Let’s find out_ , he answered.    

She tilted her head back and kissed him, deeper than before. His hand tightened over hers. It was easy to kiss him, warm and slow and very… thorough. The TV became white noise; after a while, so did everything.

When she drew back, settling against Henry’s chest again, she caught Walt’s eyes on them. If she had thought Henry watching her with Walt was interesting, this was even more so. He looked just a little surprised- not so much that they were doing this, maybe more that they were doing this and it was easier than he’d expected it to be. Vic knew that feeling very well. He also looked hungry in a way she hadn’t seen before, a way she’d half given up on ever seeing.

Vic exchanged another look with Henry, and he inclined his head.

She folded her legs in and sat up, leaning forward. She kept holding Henry’s hand as she kissed Walt. His mouth was warm like Henry’s, and both of them tasted faintly like alcohol. Walt inspired a very different kind of touch; his lips moved against hers like he was constantly reminding himself how this was done. There was something so sweet about that, especially given that he had- assumedly- done this with Lizzie Ambrose not so long ago, and yet for some reason it was different for him now, like here he had to tread carefully and make sure he didn’t mess this one up.

Vic rested her face against Walt’s cheek. “You guys should stay,” she said.

Walt blinked at her, and it occurred to Vic how that had probably sounded. She slumped back in the middle of the couch to take better stock of her surroundings. She glanced over at Henry, but his eyes were on Walt.

“I don’t mean- I have a spare room.” It had seemed like an unnecessary extravagance when she bought the house- to have to two bedrooms when no relatives came to see her and she certainly didn’t plan to have kids- but she was glad of it now. “Also a couch, but…” She trailed off. There was little doubt in her mind that they had shared a bed before. Whether or not it had always been completely platonic she wasn’t quite sure, but she’d decided it didn’t matter. That was too much history for her to unravel completely, let alone try to shoehorn herself into.

She did wonder, sometimes, if it ought to intimidate her that they had known each other longer than she had been alive- but it simply didn’t. She just felt lucky to be playing whatever part she was playing.

“You shouldn’t drive buzzed, Sheriff. It sets a bad precedent.”

Walt inclined his head, accepting her reasoning even though they all knew that at this point in the evening he really didn’t even qualify as buzzed. She wanted them to stay, so they would.

Vic thought she’d sleep well that night.         


End file.
